


A Hungry, Smitten Eye

by moodymarshmallow



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:31:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The answer to why Fenris is at the Hanged Man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hungry, Smitten Eye

There was no Aggregio Pavali at the Hanged Man, but if that’s what Fenris wanted he would have stayed home. Not that he wanted the ale, though there was a full tankard in front of him. It smelled as foul as the rest of the place and he wasn’t quite sure why he bought it.   
  
Fenris knew why he was there. She was standing by the bar, like always, casually baring an expanse of dark thigh and long boot as she shifted from one side to the other, downing the drink, slamming the empty cup on the bar.   
  
The thing with Hawke hadn’t worked out for either of them, and there was a certain sadness in that. Yet it seemed as though it had been a catalyst, a trigger, some breaking down of a long-held barrier that was not so much designed to keep things from getting out as it was to stop them from getting in. He saw her now. He  really  saw her, and wondered how he hadn’t before. Was that flicker of her eyes to glance at him or to look at the door when Hawke left with his apostate? He felt cast-off, annoyed, and pushed away from the table in frustration.  
  
No, not frustration. Something else. Something less familiar and just a tiny bit sweeter.   
  
He met her at the bar without relaxing, without leaning the way she did, watching her see him out of the corner of her eyes and turn her entire body to face his, more open and less tense than Fenris could even pretend to be.   
  
“Fenris,” Isabela said, and he decided he liked the way his name sounded on her tongue. It wasn’t the way Hawke said it, and that was good. It was nice—the little smirk, the winking flirtation. Had it really been 6 years since she’d started this? He was a fool. “Are you slumming in Lowtown tonight?”   
  
“Perhaps.” He didn’t smile, not in a way that most would recognize, but his expression did change a bit around the eyes; there was a softness to his brow as he lowered his lids. Isabela noticed. She quirked an eyebrow upwards and let a slow smirk cross her lips.   
  
“Don’t tell me you’re tired of sitting alone in that palatial estate of yours. Should I go bring Anders back so he can make sure you’re feeling well?” Isabela was, as always, smoother than fine Orelsian silk.   
  
Fenris wrinkled his nose, making no attempt to hide the disgust. “No.” Out of reflex alone he turned away, ready to forget why he came here and just go back to his solitude. He paused. He didn’t want that. He turned back to her. “I was thinking, and you never did manage to guess what color my small clothes are.” He took a step closer, lifting a hand slowly to take a tendril of long, black hair into his fingers. Maybe he was still guarded, still coiled, still ready to run, but this time, he had left his gauntlets behind.   
  
“You don’t wear any,” Isabela said with a satisfied smirk when he raised his eyebrows. “I was just waiting for you to admit it.”   
  
Fenris smiled, just slightly, and curled the hair around his finger. “Nothing gets past you, does it? I think I might miss that game though.” He lifted his hand, bringing it to his lips, but stopping midway. “Perhaps instead you would rather try and guess how extensive my…markings are?”   
  
“You are terrible at flirting.” Isabela took a step towards him, holding his gaze, her eyes suggesting even more than the brush of her hand on his hip, light and fleeting, almost accidental.   
  
“It seems I need practice. Do you offer classes?”   
  
“Oh, I’m a  _terrible_  teacher. I skip right to the final lesson.” Isabela put a hand lightly on his forearm, stroking it when he didn’t pull away.   
  
“I’m always willing to learn.”


End file.
